[ Her voice is low and raspy. He certainly knows where she is now. Any moment she's dead. Unless she can force her legs to move again. Off with a bang. Unless she drops from blood loss. ]
Why not?
[ 'I want to gut you and make your own intenstines trail after you.' ]
It might make your heart grow three sizes that day.
[ 'I want to string you up for the crows to peck on. I want to be the one that slices your throat from ear-to-ear.' ]
[ he watches the spot where he can see blood. not a lot of it, but enough to suggest she was there - or is there - and tightens his grip on his cleaver. ]
Bring it and we'll see.
[ if she actually brings something, he'll give her leeway. for now ...
[ It's a maybe. But it's a maybe for— later. No dice. No cigar. Tonight she's screwed. She realizes this just as she hears his boot settle only so many steps away. It displaces a twig. Not a snap, but a quiet straining of the wood.
Meg barrels forward from her hiding spot, her mind whirling as she keeps track of her legs, her spinning thoughts, cottony from blood loss. The timing is tricky, but her nail clips the release, the flashbang hits the ground, and she shoots off like a gun.
There really isn't much gas though after the initial burst. ]
[ he wasn't expecting the flashbang. he never sees them until it's too late.
it goes off and he's blind, instantly furious, instantly forgetting what they were just talking about. he stumbles forward until his vision clears and sees her running like hell, just like she always does. this time her footprints aren't alone; the trail of blood is back.
he charges after her. watching her, or the trail if she disappears, and listening for her. running like that on a gut wound like she has means the pain'll make sure she's not quiet for long. ]
[ Adrenaline is good medicine, but only for so long. There's a series of obstacles, rocks and half-walls that Meg skirts around, praying she can make her tracks confusing enough to finally slip away. Either to safety, or to a private place to bleed out and die. She sees the trap when it's nearly too late, her bad ankle twisting in the air to avoid it, overstepping onto the ground and upending herself.
She avoids it, but she slams her shoulder into the ground. Any other day, that would be a win. One she could bounce up from and take off rabbit-fast. Not today. She hits the ground and the wound around her middle pulses. No amount of butterfly bandages and a haphazardly tied hoodie can keep the mess together now.
What are all those stages of grief? She already hit bargaining. And depression is already baked-in to every moment of their existance here. In comes acceptance. She rolls onto her back and snickers. Then she laughs, eyes on a facsimile night sky as she hears his boots approach. ]
[ when his vision is finally clear, he has to follow sound, not sight. there's still flashing afterimages in his sight; the shadows still cover everything, even the blood. but he knows where his traps are, and as he follows the sound of her agony, he knows she's headed right for one.
he doesn't hear it go off. he does hear her hit the ground, and when he rounds the corner there she is, on the other side, having managed to avoid it but failing to do anything else. she's lying on her back, blood soaking through the wrapping around her middle, and ... ]
Funny how sad that was, huh?
[ he's not laughing. but she's not going anywhere. he picks up the trap, lets it close with a dull snap, and looks down at her. either he kills her or she bleeds out here. he's not sure which he wants to see more after that blind. ]
No. [ She spits out, hacks out. There's blood on her teeth, bubbling up at the corners of her mouth. She laughs again, grinning up with blood between her teeth. ] Thought of a— joke. Ever hear the one about the tortoise and the—
[ Meg hacks up a glob of red mess on her chin. Her hand slides over, hand gripping her hoodie and pulling it up. Her abdomen is a sliced mess, made worse by the poor patch job and the running for her life. She'll probably bleed out soon enough, but: ]
[ he'd be angrier with her comments if she wasn't visibly, obviously bleeding out. as it is, he snarls under the mask, but manages to avoid any telling insults - or trying to make the wounds worse. there's no point. ]
Better'n you.
[ that is to say, no. gloating over lesser people was a given in his life. but he's known meg to mock him on the way out the exit gate. ]
And you ain't a hare. Rabbit, maybe. Too dumb to know when you're dying.
[ She hooks her bloody teeth over her bottom lip when she smiles, little rabbit teeth. A rabbit, a hare, what's the difference really? They both kick when they're grabbed. They both bite hard and squeal strange jackrabbit sounds, eerie and alarming. They're both prey.
She's mocked him plenty. She mocks him right now, her hand, bloody from her stomach, gestures toward... all of her. She doesn't have anything to lose. She tried bargaining, and though she'll come back again, and again and again, for a moment her hindbrain is aflutter with the approaching death. No matter how much it happens, it always brings: fear. Regardless of what logic says, the brain never wants to die. ]
And I know. Aren't you going to finish it? That's the part you jerk it to afterwards, right?
[ the blood, the guts, the obvious fact that she'll be dead in five minutes whether he does anything or not - evan watches her. watches the smile, the look at this bullshit gesture toward her dying frame, the way she doesn't move even to try and protect herself from his cleaver should he choose to use it.
she doesn't beg, either. but the ones who've been here for a while usually don't. they know it's usually useless.
she does make a vulgar comment, which makes him snort. ]
Not me. Maybe the ghost.
[ he keeps watching her. she won't be much longer. ]
He's probably jerking it right now. [ She means for her hand to gesture toward the forest, to wherever Ghost Face is, snapping shots of her dying at the Trapper's feet. If he is out there, maybe he'll taunt her with them later. It always feels fucked. Looking at a picture of herself, guts steaming. But her hand doesn't raise this time, just twitches where it lays. The panic rises. ]
P-power fantasy. [ Or something like it. Maybe he just finds her pathetic. Likes watching her bleed out without lifting a finger. She doesn't feel pathetic, she knows in that space her soul resided that she's iron, that she's— she's— maybe she is pathetic. She doesn't actually want to die.
She feels cold even though her guts had felt so hot. She sucks in an awful breath. It's a rattle, it's close to a cry. She's so close to the edge, that moment of nothing; it's frightening to watch it coming. To realize, she doesn't know if she wants to see the campfire. If she wants nothing, nothing ever again. To really, really be dead. She blurts out in a shaky breath to a serial killer: ] I don't k-know if I want to come back.
[ she's trying to keep it light, but it's fading. she's fading. too much blood loss will do that to a person. it might be kinder to kill her on the spot, but since when has he ever been kind?
he can see the cold creeping up on her. the way the knowledge that she's dying is setting in. for all the time they've been here, that fear never really goes away, and he knows exactly why. the entity has a very particular way it wants the game played, and even outside trials, some things stick.
the shaky words almost don't reach him. if there was any other sound around, they might not have. evan looks down at her, and while there's no sympathy in him, no pity or remorse, there is something like resignation in his voice when he replies. ]
FUCK— that. [ She can't get much more out, words bloody and body twitching as her heart gives a flutter, hand on the earth opening and closing a few inches from the Trapper's boot. Maybe she's reaching for him. Doesn't matter, she's too weak. She dies gritting her teeth, her eyes shining until they...
Dim. Go dim. Her mouth slackens too, little fierce rabbit body gone slack, light, whatever went into making it a being gone now. Just a body. Just a creature caught in a trap, that ran as hard as it could.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
You wanna share with me, Red?
[ he knows her name. he's just not going to use it. ]
no subject
Why not?
[ 'I want to gut you and make your own intenstines trail after you.' ]
It might make your heart grow three sizes that day.
[ 'I want to string you up for the crows to peck on. I want to be the one that slices your throat from ear-to-ear.' ]
no subject
Bring it and we'll see.
[ if she actually brings something, he'll give her leeway. for now ...
he heads for the hiding spot. for the blood. ]
no subject
Meg barrels forward from her hiding spot, her mind whirling as she keeps track of her legs, her spinning thoughts, cottony from blood loss. The timing is tricky, but her nail clips the release, the flashbang hits the ground, and she shoots off like a gun.
There really isn't much gas though after the initial burst. ]
no subject
it goes off and he's blind, instantly furious, instantly forgetting what they were just talking about. he stumbles forward until his vision clears and sees her running like hell, just like she always does. this time her footprints aren't alone; the trail of blood is back.
he charges after her. watching her, or the trail if she disappears, and listening for her. running like that on a gut wound like she has means the pain'll make sure she's not quiet for long. ]
no subject
She avoids it, but she slams her shoulder into the ground. Any other day, that would be a win. One she could bounce up from and take off rabbit-fast. Not today. She hits the ground and the wound around her middle pulses. No amount of butterfly bandages and a haphazardly tied hoodie can keep the mess together now.
What are all those stages of grief? She already hit bargaining. And depression is already baked-in to every moment of their existance here. In comes acceptance. She rolls onto her back and snickers. Then she laughs, eyes on a facsimile night sky as she hears his boots approach. ]
no subject
he doesn't hear it go off. he does hear her hit the ground, and when he rounds the corner there she is, on the other side, having managed to avoid it but failing to do anything else. she's lying on her back, blood soaking through the wrapping around her middle, and ... ]
Funny how sad that was, huh?
[ he's not laughing. but she's not going anywhere. he picks up the trap, lets it close with a dull snap, and looks down at her. either he kills her or she bleeds out here. he's not sure which he wants to see more after that blind. ]
no subject
[ Meg hacks up a glob of red mess on her chin. Her hand slides over, hand gripping her hoodie and pulling it up. Her abdomen is a sliced mess, made worse by the poor patch job and the running for her life. She'll probably bleed out soon enough, but: ]
Weren't you raised better? Don't— gloat.
no subject
Better'n you.
[ that is to say, no. gloating over lesser people was a given in his life. but he's known meg to mock him on the way out the exit gate. ]
And you ain't a hare. Rabbit, maybe. Too dumb to know when you're dying.
no subject
[ She hooks her bloody teeth over her bottom lip when she smiles, little rabbit teeth. A rabbit, a hare, what's the difference really? They both kick when they're grabbed. They both bite hard and squeal strange jackrabbit sounds, eerie and alarming. They're both prey.
She's mocked him plenty. She mocks him right now, her hand, bloody from her stomach, gestures toward... all of her. She doesn't have anything to lose. She tried bargaining, and though she'll come back again, and again and again, for a moment her hindbrain is aflutter with the approaching death. No matter how much it happens, it always brings: fear. Regardless of what logic says, the brain never wants to die. ]
And I know. Aren't you going to finish it? That's the part you jerk it to afterwards, right?
no subject
she doesn't beg, either. but the ones who've been here for a while usually don't. they know it's usually useless.
she does make a vulgar comment, which makes him snort. ]
Not me. Maybe the ghost.
[ he keeps watching her. she won't be much longer. ]
You're finished without me gettin' involved.
sorry for disappearing! she'll be dead soon...
P-power fantasy. [ Or something like it. Maybe he just finds her pathetic. Likes watching her bleed out without lifting a finger. She doesn't feel pathetic, she knows in that space her soul resided that she's iron, that she's— she's— maybe she is pathetic. She doesn't actually want to die.
She feels cold even though her guts had felt so hot. She sucks in an awful breath. It's a rattle, it's close to a cry. She's so close to the edge, that moment of nothing; it's frightening to watch it coming. To realize, she doesn't know if she wants to see the campfire. If she wants nothing, nothing ever again. To really, really be dead. She blurts out in a shaky breath to a serial killer: ] I don't k-know if I want to come back.
rip 2 meg
he can see the cold creeping up on her. the way the knowledge that she's dying is setting in. for all the time they've been here, that fear never really goes away, and he knows exactly why. the entity has a very particular way it wants the game played, and even outside trials, some things stick.
the shaky words almost don't reach him. if there was any other sound around, they might not have. evan looks down at her, and while there's no sympathy in him, no pity or remorse, there is something like resignation in his voice when he replies. ]
Ain't up to us.
rip 🙏🎀
Dim. Go dim. Her mouth slackens too, little fierce rabbit body gone slack, light, whatever went into making it a being gone now. Just a body. Just a creature caught in a trap, that ran as hard as it could.
If she were there, she'd probably say:
That's all folks. ]